


Blame It on the Cuervo

by randi2204



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 2K Round-up Challenge, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:57:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it really <i>all</i> the tequila's fault?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It on the Cuervo

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** These boys belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy.

When Chris woke, it was into the hell of a hangover.  He’d been in this particular hell before, and this hangover wasn’t nearly as bad as others he’d had… but still bad enough.  His mouth was dry and cottony, and he didn’t quite dare lift his head from the pillow.  It was already filled with little men with hammers, and he didn’t want them to start pounding any harder.

 

_Oh, God,_ he thought as quietly as he could, _what the hell was I drinkin’ last night?_

 

Tequila had to have been involved.

 

He lay still for some time, trying to determine how much light was in the room without opening his eyes, because he knew if the curtains were open, the sunlight was going to stab right into his brain.  Even the fact that he was nude under the covers didn’t lend any urgency to the matter; he slept in the altogether most of the time anyway, so waking up naked and hungover wasn’t new.

 

Nor was the feel of another naked body pressed against his front, underneath his arm.  His hips snuggled tight against the other’s ass, his nose was buried against the nape of the other’s neck, and a hand covered his where it rested on the other’s breast.  The scent filling his nostrils was well-known and welcome, spoke to him of home, of love.

 

Chris frowned slightly, tried to keep from thinking, but the thought came regardless.  _Wonder_ why _I was drinkin’…_ After a moment spent searching memories gone blank from alcohol, he decided it didn’t matter that much.  _Safe at home in my own bed, and I ain’t alone, so guess things could be worse…_

 

Then he opened his eyes.

 

His first thought, confused, was _This isn’t our bedroom,_ followed immediately by _Looks like a hotel room_ and _What the hell?_   He forced himself up on one elbow, a sudden surprising fear clenching in his chest.  _Oh Jesus, what’s going on?_

 

For a while after losing Sarah and Adam, he’d made a habit of drinking himself into the beds of strangers, drowning his grief in alcohol and meaningless sex, and oh, God, he couldn’t remember, what if…

 

His movement jostled his bedmate, who grumbled a complaint before seemingly returning to sleep.  Chris stared at Ezra’s profile in the dim light drifting through the heavy curtains, the familiar lines of his back and shoulders, the short hair mussed from sleep, and simply sagged in relief. He rested his head against the back of Ezra’s neck, and lost himself trying to calm the pounding of his heart.

 

Eventually, his heartbeat calmed, but he was still left with the throbbing in his head, and no real idea of what had happened the night before to land him and Ezra in this strange hotel room.

 

_Maybe Ezra knows,_ he thought.  “Ezra?”  It was more a croak than anything, and he swallowed to get some moisture in his mouth.  At least his stomach wasn’t trying to turn inside out anymore.  “Ezra?”  He disentangled his hand from Ezra’s, shook his shoulder.  “Wake up.”

 

“Nngh.” Ezra turned his face into the pillow with a groan, shoulder tensing under Chris’s hand.  “Good Lord, what were we drinking?” he muttered.

 

Lying back down, Chris huffed, all the laugh he was capable of just then.  “Wish I knew… but I’m pretty sure Cuervo was a big part of it.”

 

“Ugh.  You and your tequila.” Despite his disparaging words, Ezra leaned back, increasing the contact between them.  Chris swept his hand down Ezra’s side, letting his fingers skim over flesh he knew so well, firm muscle and soft skin.  Just the touch set his own skin abuzz, and he pressed a kiss to the nape of Ezra’s neck. Ezra shivered against him, a soft, pleased hum deep in his throat, before he pulled away slightly.  “Chris… not now,” he said.  “Later, when it feels less likely that my brain will crawl out of my ear…”

 

Chris snorted, then regretted it.  “Yeah, all right.” 

 

Ezra sighed, stiffening a little, and Chris knew he’d opened his eyes.  “Well.  This is… unexpected.  Do you have any idea where…”

 

“Nope.  I was hopin’ you would.”

 

Ezra was silent for a long moment, and Chris propped himself up on his elbow again, the better to see his expression.  He wore a thoughtful frown, which smoothed out the moment he realized Chris was looking at him.  “I do have a vague impression of… neon lights.  Perhaps even more bizarrely, the song “You Were Always On My Mind” keeps running through my head.”

 

“Huh.”  It was Chris’s turn to think.  “Elvis or Willie Nelson?”

 

“Elvis,” Ezra replied, and his tone didn’t just imply _of course,_ it all but said it aloud.

 

Chris knew he had most of the information he needed to figure out what had happened, but the way his head ached kept him from thinking too deeply about it.  At last he let out a breath; Ezra tensed a little, quivering as it washed hot over his shoulder.  “Guess it’ll keep a little longer.”  His hand came to rest on Ezra’s hip, his fingers stroking lightly.  _Might be another reason it’s hard to think,_ he allowed silently, and forced himself to stop.  “Takin’ a shower might help… I know it’d make _me_ feel a little more human.”

 

Ezra slewed a doubtful look over his shoulder.  “Yes, you do look as bad as I feel.”

 

“Thanks,” he replied, mouth pulling up in a half-grin he couldn’t control.

 

Ezra’s mouth quirked in an answering smile, despite the pinched look around his eyes.  “It’s nothin’, I assure you.” He shifted toward the edge of the bed and Chris released him so he could sit up.  “I’m never drinkin’ with you again,” he vowed, holding his head in both hands for a moment.  Then, before Chris could do more than reach out to touch the tempting expanse of that broad back, Ezra levered himself to his feet and stumbled off to the bathroom.  After a moment, he stepped back out, holding one of the hotel’s plastic cups, full to the brim with water.  He set it down on the bedside table with exaggerated care.  “Drink that,” he ordered before disappearing into the bath again.

 

Chris barely registered the water, however; he stared vaguely into the distance, while memories rushed to fill his head.  _Vegas,_ he thought slowly, flexing his left hand.  _We came to Vegas for a long weekend… I wanted to go to the rodeo and Ezra wanted to visit some of the casinos.  Got in last night, had some drinks... heard someone talking about an Elvis chapel…_

 

It hadn’t been planned – at least, he knew _he_ hadn’t planned it; hadn’t planned to ever wear a ring on that finger again.  But there it was, encircling the third finger of his left hand, plain and gold and glittering in the light leaking around the curtains.

 

_We got married,_ he thought.  _We got married in Vegas._

 

Somehow he got himself off the bed and upright, and staggered into the bathroom.  Ezra straightened from fiddling with the shower, hot enough steam was already rising.  He hadn’t climbed in under the spray, however, and smirked at Chris when he opened the door.  “I’m willin’ to scrub your back if you scrub mine…”

 

His mouth fell open when Chris grabbed his hand to wordlessly show him the matching bands they wore, and his eyes were wide when he was finally able to meet Chris’s gaze.  “I… I didn’t…”

 

But Chris had remembered that, too.  “You didn’t,” he agreed, voice rough.  Without another word, he backed Ezra into the shower, pressed him against the tiled wall while the water fell over them both.  Ezra flinched – the tile must have still been a bit cool – but Chris held him there with his body and kissed him, plunging his tongue into Ezra’s mouth.  Ezra was stunned into stillness for a moment before returning the kiss, his fingers digging into Chris’s back, his hip, trying to pull him even closer.

 

He took hold of Ezra’s left hand again, brushing his thumb over the smooth, warm gold around Ezra’s finger, and felt full of warmth, full of a feeling aching and tender all at once that simply made his hangover irrelevant.

 

Especially since the tequila had only been part of the celebration afterwards, not courage before.

 

***

March 1, 2013

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired (after years and years and _years_ ) by Carrie Underwood's song "Last Name".


End file.
